


Whose minds the Dead have ravished

by Measured_Words



Category: Diablotin
Genre: Claustrophobia, Friendship, Gen, Injury, One-Sided Attraction, Panic, Psychological Trauma, Psyrene War, Shock, Trapped, Traumatic Stress, Trench Warfare, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-21 09:53:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3687813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Measured_Words/pseuds/Measured_Words
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is not quite the first day of Ander's new posting, but the Psyrenes have quite a welcome in mind...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whose minds the Dead have ravished

**Author's Note:**

> For my 'Locked In' Trope Bingo square.
> 
> Title lifted from "Mental Cases" by Wilfred Owens - the full line is "These are men whose minds the Dead have ravished," but the gender is not applicable here and I just dropped it >.>

It wasn't quite Ander's first day at his new posting, but it was close. He was still getting settled into his bunker, but he figured it would be good to get out for a morning inspection on the front lines to get a better idea of their situation. It was a lot of the same sort of thing he'd seen on other assignments – miles of narrow trenches barricaded with sandbags, shored up where possible with wooden supports, and occasional platforms or small bunkers dug into the sides and reinforced with planks or corrugated metal. The troops were the same tired looking men and women he saw everywhere two years into a war everyone had thought would be over in a matter of months. He didn't know them yet, but that too was a matter of time.

The morning inspections were a regular routine, giving everyone a chance to mentally regroup themselves for what would hopefully going to be a quiet day, though they were usually carried out by the platoon lieutenants. Most of the fighting happened in the evenings, or during night raids – coordinating that was going to be Ander's job now. He had a full company under his command, but the platoons would rotate positions so that they should only have two week stretches on the front. He himself would work permanently out of his assigned bunker in the network of support trenches. Ander figured that his ancestors had lived underground for thousands of years – probably he could manage it for however long it took for the war to end, or for the brass to decide to relocate him somewhere else. The narrow passages and dark enclosed spaces didn't faze him, but he could have done without the shelling.

The slicks appeared to have other ideas.

It wasn't common for the Psyran forces to engage in shelling in the morning, but it wasn't unheard of. It figured they would pick the morning he'd chosen for his inspection though – he'd only gotten about halfway through when the explosions started. Ralf stepped up immediately to try and guide him back to relative safety, but a shell sailed by just above their heads, and they both dove in opposite directions to avoid the blast.

When he came to, it took Ander a moment to process that the screaming he heard wasn't just the explosion ringing in his ears. In that moment, he also realized that something heavy was trapping both his legs at the knee, that everything was completely dark, and that he was laying on top of someone else. That someone was doing the screaming, and also frantically trying to push him away.

The realization that he was trapped brought with it a cold wave of panic as his powerlessness combined with the familiar but unpleasant sensation that his body was refusing to behave the way it should and that his skin was trying to crawl off of its own accord. His instincts – those he could make sense of – were to join whoever he was trapped with, screaming and pushing back. He managed to keep control instead, raising one arm to protect his face.

"Stop – hey, stop it." His voice sounded muffled, but he wasn't sure if it was the lingering grogginess or the situation. Ander remembered diving for cover in a little alcove that someone had dug into the wall and reinforced with corrugated metal of some kind.

The hands stopped pushing, and the screaming subsided into sobs.

"It's okay," he said, trying to sound calming, trying to find one of the hands. It gripped his tightly.

"I thought you were dead," the voice – female – sobbed. "I thought I was dead..."

"We ain't dead." Not yet anyway. Ander sniffed the air, but everything smelled of the earth, and he couldn't tell if there was anything fresh getting in. "We're gonna be alright."

"I was... sleeping, and they started shelling, and then the wall started falling, and you came flying from nowhere and you weren't moving, and..."

Her panic wasn't doing much to help Ander stay calm. He tried moving his legs again. There was some give to the right, but it hurt, and he felt a trickle of dirt run down the back of his knee when he tried wiggling it harder, and gave up on it. The left was trapped fast, and a sharp intense pain ran up his leg when he tried to twist it even a little that made him feel dizzy and nauseous. He took a deep breath, resolving to keep them as still as possible. "Blast must've knocked me out for a bit, that's all. What's your name? Name and rank."

"Hilery. Corporal Joline Hilery. 524 Mixed Division." She still sounded shaky, but she could answer the rote question well enough. Ander recognized the name too – she was one of his snipers.

"Alright, Corporal. You know who I am?"

He heard something rustle as if she were maybe shaking her head, or nodding, and he felt her shift underneath him. "No," she answered finally.

"I'm your new captain – Ander Suterre."

"I'm s-sorry Captain," she muttered, sobbing again. 

"Nothing to be sorry about." He squeezed her hand again, trying to find some leverage with his free arm to lift himself up a little so he wasn't lying awkwardly across her with his head practically in her lap. It put pressure on his knees though, and he hissed and let himself slump back down.

"We're buried here, Captain. Were buried alive, and we're going to die in the dark."

"They're not gonna let us die down here, Corporal. Soon as they can, they're gonna start diggin' us out, an' we'll be alright." That was how it was supposed to go. Ralf would make them look – if he wasn't buried himself. It was better not to think of that. It made the itchy feeling that was crawling under his skin all the worse, but there still wasn't anything he could do.

"It's like a grave, like dark black tomb...."

"Hey." He shook her hand, trying to snap her out of panic before it became too infectious. "Corporal – Joline. I need you to calm down, okay? It's not so bad, it's just dark, that's all. I used to love hidin' in the dark when I was a kid – crawlin' in the cupboards and closets..." Hilery's breathing was becoming more erratic, and Ander judged that his attempted reassurances were not having the desired effect. He squeezed her hand to steady it instead. "Okay, nevermind. Just take a deep breath.... In, and out. Just like that. I'm gonna see if I can't get us a light for a bit, alright?"

It took a bit of fumbling to dig his lighter out of his pocket while he was stuck on his front and without jostling his legs, but at least Hilery kept breathing more or less evenly. He could tell she was trying not to start crying again by the occasional hitch in the rhythm, but she kept a death grip on him. Finally he got it out, and managed to get it open and held up enough that he wasn't worried about setting either of them on fire. It was pretty full of fluid but, given the uncertainty of the air supply situation, he wasn't sure that was actually a boon.

The area they were in was a little larger than he'd imagined, not that it did him much good. There was room for Joline to sit up completely, and still a little space between her head and the ceiling. The sides and roof were all reinforced, which was probably why it hadn't collapsed. The shell must have hit the back side of the trench and collapsed it forward. He was Voided lucky not to have been crushed to death. He probably wasn't even as deeply buried as all that, though whatever had happened to his left leg did not like his efforts to get a good look at the slump, and he had to lie still for a minute to let the pain subside to bearable levels.

Joline's eyes were as wide as saucers in the dark, and he couldn’t tell if being able to see was actually helping her or not. The lighter didn't have a very bright flame. Unless she was a Rat too, it probably wasn't doing her much good.

"That better?"

This time he could see her nod.

"Alight then. You're doin' real good – real good. I need you to hold still for me, though, just for a minute, and hold your breath, okay?"

Ander waited until she nodded and took a deep breath before doing the same, holding the lighter as still as possible. The flame burned low and straight for a second before it flickered slightly, leaning to the side. There was air coming in, then. Even if it wasn't much, probably they'd do okay until someone could dig them out.

"We're gonna be fine. There's air comin' from somewhere – probably some rat hole up at the roof. We can just let that burn if it helps you any." He couldn’t keep hold of the lighter, though, it was already hot enough to burn his fingers. There wasn't anywhere great to put it that he could reach, so he set it standing up in a pile of dirt, hoping that it would last without overheating.

 

"I could see them, captain – in the dark. They were staring, and I could feel it, I could feel the way they shuddered when they were hit. I know it's not real. But it felt – feels – real. They're waiting for me. I thought I was in Hell. And.... we're not. We're not going to be okay."

Ander could feel her shaking, and she jerked once as if to curl in on herself, but stopped when the sudden movement made him gasp with pain. It subsided when she stopped, but the contrasting tingling made him realized he was otherwise losing feeling. Hell indeed – he wanted to curl up too, to claw his way out of the earth that was trapping his legs, to get somewhere where he wasn't touching or being touched by anyone else, to do anything to make the acute feeling of wrongness under his skin go away. But that wasn't happening any time soon, and the best he could offer either of them was further distraction.

"How long you been out here, Corporal?"

"Nine days, this time."

Which meant she had about five days left before she'd be transferred away from the front unless something happened. He was still learning all the history and details of the new troops – there was an older core company, but its losses kept being supplemented from other units that had been broken up and dispersed for various reasons. Ander'd brought some of his old platoon with him to round out numbers after the same had happened to them.

"How many times?"

"I don't..." She shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut, unable to finish.

Too many times then. The war was into its second year, and she could have spent months of that in the trenches. "When was the last time you had some leave?"

She took a deep breath, but Ander could tell she was crying again. Not sobbing, just letting the tears fall while she stared at the dim flame. "We were supposed to go to Isyene. Last month. There was a bomb... a mine. The transport ahead of ours hit it, in the road... I saw them. We were supposed to get a break. We had plans, my squadmates and... They sent us, the ones left, back to base. We stayed there, and we did nothing, for a week. And then we came back."

Ander actually knew a little bit more about that story – about why the bases had been locked down. It actually had less to do with insurgent activity on the roads and more with trying to find transport and accommodations for everyone who made it out of Camp Tashoren. He'd thought nerves had seemed frayed this morning even before the attack – it was definitely going to be something to look into once they got out. For now it was one more useful distraction to turn over in his mind as the pins and needles feeling started to creep up into his thighs.

"When we get outta here, I'm gonna make sure you get some time away from the front, okay? Real time, and really away. No one starin' after you in the dark, no bombs in the roads, no shootin'." He wasn't actually sure she was going to be found fit for duty at all, but maybe a real break would help. "How's that sound?"

"I... – I don't think I can ever get away, Captain. They follow me everywhere now. Hell follows me everywhere. It's waiting for me."

Maybe she wasn't wrong, either, but keeping her at the front couldn't be helping. "Right here, it's just you an' me, alright? An' I need your help, okay, cause I'm stuck in the fuckin' dirt and I'm tryin' real had not to lose my shit. So, maybe can we try an' find somethin' nice to talk about?"

Hilery nodded, wiping at her eyes and sniffing, but "I'm sorry" was all she said. When she pulled her hand back away from her face, though, she rested it on his hair. Ander braced himself for the contact and managed not to flinch away from her – it wasn't so bad just on his hair, and when she started combing her fingers through the longer parts it actually seemed to help. But he could tell he was going to have to be the one to keep up any conversation.

"You from the city?" He didn't want to touch on family, but it seemed a safe start.

"Yes." She paused long enough that Ander worried that he'd misjudged, or at least that he'd need to prompt her again. "In the Place D'Iena."

"Oh yeah? It's a nice neighborhood. I used to go there sometimes over to this nice little café down on Atres Lane – I can't remember the name. You know where I mean?"

She shook her head. "I... there was a place I liked. They had really nice croissants. The man who owned it was very big, a large man, very kind. He would give me a chocolate croissant, sometimes, when I went there with my mother. His son, or his son in law, took over. That was maybe five years ago. It was just called La Lune."

"Right, yeah. I think I know that – there's, what, a hat shop across the street? An' it'd got a blue awning?"

"It used to be purple. It's blue now."

"You know other nice places 'round there?"

Hilery's voice got steadier and she continued, responding to his prompting. It never quite lost the blank and distant quality, and she rarely looked up from the sputtering light. She didn’t stop combing her fingers through his hair either, though, and occasionally she would ask him something instead. It was hard to gauge how long they talked, but he felt tired and cold and sore as the panic ebbed away, and his mouth went dry after a while. It might have been an hour since he woke up until Ander heard other muffled voices beyond the slump. It didn’t take too long after that for the diggers to clear their way into the recess.

His eyes were adjusted to the dying flame put out by the lighter, and he was too blinded when daylight penetrated their cave to recognize the faces that followed it. The first person in was Sister Frenac, the senior medic for this section of trench. She checked them both over as best she could in the crowded space, and explained that they were having to work carefully to sift through the earth and sandbags trapping his legs so as not to cause further damage.

"And I'm sorry captain," she continued her explanation, "but I'm going to have to give you something to knock you out.

"Don't worry 'bout me – I'm not feelin' much of anything. You need to get Hilery out of here."

Frenac had already given the corporal a quick look over, but she glanced back her way. Hilery, still gripping Ander's hand, shook her head.

"I understand, Captain, and I promise we'll take care of her. You, though – you might feel fine right now, but you’re lucky I can be here." Frenac pulled out a large syringe and some ampules, drawing what looked like a large dose into the cylinder. "Brace yourself – this isn't going to be fun."

She gave him the shot in the hip – Ander remembered that much. It hurt worse that being caught by grenade shrapnel, but not worse that trying to move his legs, and it didn't last long. It was hard to hold on to his thoughts after that, and his memories later were fuzzy. He thought Ralf was there for a bit – he remembered feeling relieved. And he remembered that Hilery stayed with him, and that she never let go of his hand.

Ander woke up alone groggy in a hospital tent. Whatever the drugs were, they'd knocked out the acute feeling that his skin was trying to crawl off his body, and even the normal feelings of wrongness felt somewhat suppressed. As soon as they realized he was awake, some nurses came and swarmed around him for a bit, but the first person he saw that he recognized was Ralf. By then he was alert enough to realize that it wasn't an authorized visit, and he tried to keep his voice low. It felt – and probably sounded – like he'd been gargling gravel

"Hey." Ander reached out to offer his hand. Ralf took it, giving it tight squeeze. "Just like old times, eh?"

Ralf smiled tightly at the joke – before this posting, Ander has spent a week resting up under medical supervision in the temporary base camp at Birdur. After they'd lost Camp Tashoren and the fighting there had intensified, there had been too many other casualties that took priority for him to receive any magical healing. Ander had wound up with a promotion along with the shrapnel and burn scars along his right side. But now, other than the residual grogginess, he felt fine. The nurses had seemed satisfied with his demonstrated toe wiggling and other range of motion tests, and as far as he was aware he was just being kept for observation. He was pretty sure he wasn't in this good shape when they pulled him out of the slumped trench, and that Frenac had been right about not wanting to be conscious.

"It was that bad, was it?"

"It wasn't great sir. But you’re alright now?" Ralf seemed to realize they were still holding hands and, with another squeeze and a somewhat more awkward smile, disengaged.

Ander nodded, hoping any disappointment evident could pass for general tiredness. "I dunno how long they want to keep me, but yeah, I'm alright." He sighed. "Heck of an impression to make, though, ain't it, on a first inspection..."

Ralf pulled over a tall stool that one of the nurses had been using while she took notes, perching over his shoulder. That brought back memories too, of the trip from Tashoren to the emergency rendezvous at Birdur, and waking up in the night on the stretcher to find Ralf keeping watch over him. "I've been hearing good things sir – some of the troops out here have been asking me about you, and there's stories goin' around somehow that you took good care of Hilery in there. Seems like people like her, but everyone thinks she's a fuckin' mess and needs to be sent home."

"She will be." Ander had already resolved to check in on her as soon as he was released, and to follow up on his promise. "Gotta check out some of the others too."

Ralf snorted and shook his head, but they both looked up sharply as they heard voices approaching. It sounded like Frenac, which might mean he was close to getting released. Ralf slipped off the stool, preparing to exit however he'd come. Ander wished he could stay, or at least that he would come back soon.

Ralf did give him a lingering pat on the shoulder before he slipped away though. It was accompanied by another gentle squeeze and an authentic grin. "I'll let them know they’re in good hands, sir."


End file.
